


Devil in the Details

by Hashilavalamp



Series: We reap what we sow [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Historical Hetalia, World War II, tags will be added as the story progresses so keep an eye on that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashilavalamp/pseuds/Hashilavalamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of a nation is long and arduous, but even over the course of such a long life, the little moments inbetween can hold great significance. Prussia has learned to never underestimate them the hard way, and Germany shall do the same. </p><p>Chapter 3: Political isolation is more bearable when you're not alone. 1927, and Russia pays Germany a visit.</p><p>[Historical Hetalia - Collection of short stories from the lives of Germany and Prussia. Sidestories to the We reap what we sow-series, though it is not necessary to have read it beforehand.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fairytales for Ludwig

**Author's Note:**

> As I promised, this is a collection of sidestories to We reap what we sow! To new readers, it's not necessary to have read the rest of the series, though some details may seem strange if you haven't. 
> 
> Chapters will not be chronological, but I will add the year each chapter takes place in so you won't get lost :D 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this collection, feedback would be fantastic~

**Late 1871**

 

 

No more chasing after the dog Luise in the gardens, no more clambering on trees even when Gilbert told him not to, no more running through the halls.

They hadn’t thought this through properly, had they?

They knew this would involve a lot more blood and tears than originally planned when the first wounds started to appear, when Ludwig’s skin began to resemble a map and Gilbert had to spend an entire afternoon stitching all the bloodied borders close, sutures stark black against the skin. They knew it’d get worse when Ludwig’s arm fell off the first time and Ludwig actually _screamed_ in pain.

It had been a moment of vindicating victory for Prussia when the arrogant southern German states, after decades of defiance and resentment, finally bowed to him and announced that they would make way for the German Empire - right up until the moment Ludwig’s legs began to bleed with the deep cuts in his flesh that resulted from this.  
The little boy had managed to grit his teeth through the meeting with Francis, and through the glorious official declaration of their empire the following day, but in reality he can stand or walk no longer than an hour without having to rely on a walking cane or having to be carried around like a toddler.

Even from several rooms away Gilbert could hear him cry and whine in the dead of night, when the stitches would come undone from his tossing and turning and blood began to soak through bandages and bed sheets, and as much as he told himself that this was necessary and right and that the boy would be stronger for this…  
Gilbert took pity on him eventually.  
Ludwig looked so glad and appreciative when his brother told him that he would be allowed to sleep in his bed, that he should wake him in case the wounds needed tending to again, so relieved that Gilbert felt twinges of guilt that he had not done this sooner, and to alleviate the awful feeling filling up his lungs he promised he would always help Ludwig find sleep.

And so he once more finds himself sitting at a sick child’s bedside and reading fairytales to it to distract from the pain.  
Last time to ease the journey into death, this time to ease the way into life, and their faces are so similar that it hurts. In that moment it feels like all that has changed are the words he speaks, because of course the Brothers Grimm had listened to his suggestions and this time around all the stories are proper and child-appropriate. This time he’ll do it better.

“ _When the betrothed couple went to church, the elder was at the right side and the younger at the left, and the pigeons pecked out one eye from each of them. Afterwards as they came back the elder was at the left, and the younger at the right, and then the pigeons pecked out the other eye from each. And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness all their days._ So you see, Ludwig! _Aschenputtel_ endured and was rewarded in the end, while those envious of her were justly punished! A happy end!”

Ludwig gives only a tired smile and his eyes are half-shut, but his gaze is certainly attentive and alive with a pleased glint that tells Gilbert that his audience has enjoyed the fairytale as he was meant to. While he likes that he hasn’t been reading stories to nobody, it’s a bit frustrating by this point that the boy’s still awake well past midnight and conscious enough to react.

With a sigh Gilbert closes the tome and puts it aside on the bedside table before he climbs into bed himself.  
He’s had a long day of running around and assuring humans that his brother is fine, that they should proceed as planned on this issue and change their approach on another, shouting at soldiers left and right because they held their rifles as if they were sticks; he does want to keep his word to Ludwig but with the heavy fog of fatigue settling in his mind he isn’t sure whether not maybe he’ll have talked himself into sleep before Ludwig.

“Any more stories you’d like to hear?” he mumbles as he makes himself comfortable and hopes that he will receive no response.  
The bedroom is silent for a few minutes and Ludwig’s body at the other side of the large bed is just as still, as if sleep had finally claimed the young soul after all, but then-

“Brother, have you ever died?”

Ludwig has such a sincere and grave manner of speaking despite his youth, and while Gilbert chooses to view it as amusing most of time, it’s eerie in moments when the boy speaks of death. Because this child would know death, even with his limbs all in place and France defeated that fate is still always lurking just around the corner and neither of them can trick themselves into thinking it isn’t.

“I haven’t” Gilbert lies easily, because as far as he is concerned he hasn’t. The hooves of a horse that broke his body were not his death, in his mind his life began right after with a knight’s robes and you cannot die when you haven’t lived before.  
Existed in some capacity, maybe. But not lived.

_Beigeite beygeyte peckolle_

Ugh, look at what you did Ludwig, Gilbert thinks bitterly to himself. Made him remember words of a dead tongue he cut out of his own mouth. And with the words come images that he hasn’t thought of in centuries because of how few and deeply buried they are, of lakes and swamps and of a little blond boy. He takes his hand and leads him through the hungry marshes, but then he lets go, and callously watches as the boy fights to the death against the water.

“I have never died, not even in battle” the Prussian repeats resolutely. “And you will be the same, Ludwig. You are my little brother and as such you will be great like me one day. Maybe not quite as great! but certainly close to it.”

Ludwig does not respond, but Gilbert sees in the dim light of the lamp that he is smiling, blissfully unaware of the little lie that his brother fed him because it’s best when he sees no cracks in Prussia’s armor.

In the morning there’s not a single drop of blood that seeped through the bandages.  


	2. Mountain song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapterr, at last! One set during WWII, so watch out for that.   
> Hope you will enjoy that one, feedback would be fantastic! <3

**September, 1943**

 

 

He has one simple question as they stand side by side.

“Is this personal to you?” Gilbert asks, too tired to put any trace of feeling into the inquiry in the cold light of morning, their rifles still silent while their targets cower in their hiding places.   
At first he doesn’t think the words got through; Feliciano’s hands fidget, thin fingers dancing over the pouches at his belt, and his eyes just stare ahead into nothingness. It does happen sometimes that Gilbert will say something and the Italian will just smile and smile and then Gilbert will realize he had heard nothing at all.   
He’s already the same as Ludwig, or even deeper down that hole. Already firing bullets at his own brother.

Gilbert should appreciate it, but he can’t really find it in him.

There’s quiet noises of battle already in the distance, the sounds echoing in the romantic mountainous area, which means the daily spiel has begun anew and Gilbert grips his rifle tight.

“What do you think?” Feliciano eventually asks back, no dry sarcasm clinging to these words but genuine whimsical wonder. Gilbert raises an eyebrow, but he ponders the question for a moment because if he’s honest with himself he hasn’t thought too hard about making up his own opinion or about what he expects – about any of what Feliciano thinks. Not important to know, as long as he does what is asked of him and doesn’t turn out to be a snake again. He’d only asked on a whim.

So what is it this time? Fanatic or opportunist? …or, well, fanatic or victim. Too much Italian blood has been spilled at their hands to say that Feliciano has much of a choice, and the Duce dances only because German strings hold him up.

“I think you are here because we want you to be.”

“I don’t have to be.”

“But it’s better for you. We will feed you and support you. And if you run, I might put a bullet through your head.”

“I am trying to kill my own brother. Do you think you could do that? Would you be able to shoot Ludwig? You would cry, I think. _I_ ’m not crying though!”

Oh no, indeed he isn’t - he’s smiling. A light, unhinged smile of somebody in delirium. Though he does cry during the night, tossing and turning in his sleep, calling the name of his sibling.  
Once again the image of Ludwig appears in Gilbert’s mind, his cheeks hollowed and eyes empty and deep in their sockets, but that infernal smile still on his blood-smeared lips. _“I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound. Don’t worry.”_ Makes Gilbert wonder what Kiku must look like now.

“You saw that Ludwig didn’t even flinch when he heard what his soldiers did to yours, Feliciano” the Prussian tries again.

“And I said that I understand that betrayal must feel bad. I would know. I’ve betrayed him before.”

“There’s resistance among your own people. You could run over to them and turn your gun on me.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of supporting you?” the Italian laughs, the sound making Gilbert cringe because it’s so off-kilter. Nothing of that free and bubbly laughter he’s used to hearing from him is left; he should have expected that nothing will remain untouched and untwisted and pure. The parasite is much too hungry for that and will only leave the shell.   
“I’m not trying to talk you into or out of anything” Gilbert states truthfully, tonelessly. Where’s his tablet container? Right, it’s long empty. And asking Feliciano for cigarettes now seems pretty low. “I want to know what you’re thinking. If you’re thinking. Whatever. I want to know if all of this is personal to you. If anything ever is.”

The mask cracks just the slightest bit, cracks like spiderwebs.

Feliciano remains silent once more, still fidgeting with restlessness, moving against the cold sneaking up on them.   
Over the mountain tops, the sun is rising higher and higher in the sky, exposing the life and death on the side of mountains and in the valleys in between. What a beautiful morning it is – there’s nothing more poetic than a sunrise, is there?

“Oh, the things you ask! Oh Gilbert! You know how it is, when you think this one thing but a, ah, significant amount of your people think something completely different and then you can feel what they’re thinking? You can hear their whispers in your ears if you concentrate” Feliciano suddenly says, raising both his hands high in the air, and his fingers strain like little claws against the sun, wringing an invisible neck.   
“When I do that, I can hear it quite clearly. Every single of these whispers tells me to kill you! They really really want you dead! But I’m not choking you to death right now. And I don’t really know why because I kind of want to.”

The Italian’s hands drop to his side again, his knuckles bruised, cuticles bloody and torn, and nails spotted from lack of vitamin. They say the Italians are brave because they head to war in cardboard tanks.

“Pretty silly, right? I mean obviously I have every reason to hate you. And I have every reason to fear you too, because what would _you_ do in retaliation? It’s easier like this, you were right! It’s simply easier, even though the whispers are really loud now.”

Something akin to sympathy arises in Gilbert’s heart as he silently watches Feliciano ramble to himself, not even worried by the implied threat of death. He’s died many times over the course of this war, another time won’t really do much.  
There’s just something so pathetic about this, a little child realizing just how great the mess is that it got itself into.

Silence again, just barely audible, incoherent mutterings in Venetian. Gilbert sighs and shifts uncomfortably, his uniform feeling stiff and stuffy despite the chill, and his eyes hurt from the light.

“What if it’s personal?” Feliciano says aloud in German again after a while, and all the Prussian can do in response is shrug – he hasn’t figured it out himself yet. Can’t do anything much aside from living with it, and trying not to think too hard about the blood and the screams and your role in all of that. Focus on the vague delusion that maybe you can still win, and winners can never be wrong.

“What if I’m doing it not because I must but because I want to. Because that is me now, because that is what he wants.”

Gilbert sighs.

“I like your brother, Gilbert. Can you believe it? I–I don’t hate him.”

“Which is what the word ‘like’ would imply.”

Feliciano in a rush of bravery or foolish, genuine emotion roughly shoves him, hard enough that Gilbert nearly loses his footing and falls over like a domino. A quiet curse comes over his lips and he glares at the Italian, not moved by the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t you understand! It makes it personal! It means I have - or at least used to have - personal stakes in this, that I was not always just a puppet, even if you hold my people hostage now! It means I am just as gross as you are! –Fuck you! You did this to me, you and Ludwig! You made me like this!” Feliciano shouts, giving away their position to anyone in vicinity (but what are they going to do? Kill them? Ha- _ha_ ), tears overflowing now, and Gilbert truly feels pity.

He has his answer now, and he’s nearly envious that Feliciano managed to hold on to denial for _so_ long – and maybe he’s going to defect now. Even if for once in his life it was personal.   
Gilbert’s own traitorous whispers tell him that he wouldn’t even mind so much this time.


	3. Friendly Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new story here! This time we have a focus on the mid/late 20s and the relationship between the Weimar Republic and Soviet Russia. I've gotten feedback on We Reap What We Sow that I should give a little more explanations for the various chapters.   
> So, during the 20s, both Russia and Germany were politcally isolated and as a result, turned towards each other more. There was lots of trading, but when Germany was accepted into the League of Nations, the Russian government was concerned they'd lose their ally to the west and attempted to strengthen their ties, including offering to go to war on Poland together. Most of the land Germans lost after WWI was Prussian and the Weimar Republic never actually confirmed the border in the east, but they still rejected this plan.   
> The NEP (New Economic Policy) ensured relatively good living conditions in Russia, if I remember correctly.

**1927**

 

Ivan brought flowers.

Two bouquets, one for each brother. Ivan does not know how well-versed they are in the language of flowers, but he still picked each of them with care as his own personal inside joke if nothing else, made sure the end results are not too opulent. Those Germans are such simple and yet fastidious people!

Ivan catches sight of his own reflection in the window pane of a shop on the side of the street and he smiles. _You’ve set yourself up for failure_ the others had said to him and denied him their friendship, but the man he sees here is healthy and handsome in his new suit. His face is clean shaven and has rounded cheeks, his hair is freshly cut, and he’s tall and well-fed, so where is that failure they speak of!

Ah, let them go down with their ship if they want to so badly. He will never join them again after he finally escaped its clutches, not for all the friendship in the world.   
There’s only one capitalist pig he can bear talking to these days. Two if he has a good day.  

With a spring in his step he continues, in too good a mood to frown at how… _American_ everything looks around here. Night is beginning to fall and so the first people seeking imported pleasures step out of their homes, and Ivan finds it in himself to give them polite smiles in passing. He increases his pace though, having no intentions of getting caught up in such groups because there is an appointment waiting for him – now, admittedly Ludwig does not know they have an appointment yet but does that make it any less important? Of course not.

And who doesn’t like surprise visits anyway?

(He knows Ludwig hates them, which is why he never does announce himself in advance.)

It has the negative side effect that it is Gilbert who opens the door for him when the Russian arrives at their house, tucked away at the end of the street and its own brand of impressive. Their eyes meet at once, and it takes just this one split second for Ivan to guess what the other’s course of action shall be, so he stretches out his foot and prevents the door from falling shut again.   
There comes a curse from behind the wood, and with a warm smile Ivan pries the door open and steps inside. “Good evening, my friend” he greets easily and hands Gilbert one of the flower bouquets as if he had actually been invited in as a welcome guest. Gilbert looks displeased from him to the flowers and growls out a greeting as well, but he positions himself so that Ivan would have to use force to push past him. How unkind.   
But fine! Fine! He’s not here to come inside anyway, or quarrel with this Prussian again for that matter.

“What are you doing here, Russia?” Gilbert asks, a little calmer this time when he speaks and rather on the side of frustrated as he runs his free hand through his pale hair. Straight to the point.   
Ivan smiles pleasantly and inclines his head. “It has been a while since we last met, so I felt it might be nice to drop by again. I do hope you like the flowers I got you, but ah, you see there’s an issue, I have another bouquet! Could you call Ludwig so I may give it to him?” he explains, and the way those red eyes narrow is answer enough – Gilbert would likely rather throw him out and forbid him from ever coming by again, would rather kill him than comply with his request, but just as back in the 80s of last century they both know he’s forced to be kind to Ivan. When the rest of the world doesn’t want to associate with you, you need to take what you can get. Picking your allies is a luxury neither of them have, and oh, Gilbert hates it so. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

“Wait here.”

The Prussian disappears down the hall like a nervous squirrel, his grating voice carrying over back to where Ivan waits patiently, and a minute later two pairs of feet sound on the polished floors.   
Ludwig appears nearly unfazed when he’s being dragged along, but the reluctance is written in the straining of muscle, the slightly hunched shoulders, the furrowed brow. All he does when Ivan presents him with the bouquet is raise an eyebrow in suspicion and pick at the heart piece, a yellow rose. “Thank you, Ivan. Did you come by just for this?” he asks without meeting his eye, still fiddling with the leaves and various petals, fixing every piece out of place.

Ivan breaks out into another smile and he claps his hands once in a show of harmless delight. “I am glad to hear you like the bouquet! But as you surely suspect already, that is not the reason for my visit. I was hoping we could go for a drink together?”   
Worded as a question, meant as a demand, spoken with light-heartedness. Ivan has turned this into an art because somehow it always takes a measure of force to make people do what he wants them to.

Ludwig says yes after a few moments of tense silence, and Gilbert says he’s going to get their jackets and hats but Ivan puts his hand on the Prussian’s shoulder and says “My friend, we already had a little outing the last time I visited! I don’t intend to monopolize your time, so I’m afraid this time it will only be I and Germany. The evening is quite warm still, the jacket won’t be necessary. We can depart at once.”

“Is that so” Gilbert bites out and the red of his eyes glows threateningly, and Ivan assures that yes, that is how it is, because he’s not intimidated anymore by gestures like that. Prussia is no longer the knight who dragged himself out of swamps and marshland and secured one of the five thrones for himself with blood, he’s not even country anymore, not even a kingdom anymore. His brother has long succeeded him.

Ludwig is still quiet, like he is not involved in any of this, gaze alert and posture rigid but a polite distance between them still. “We should go then, before it gets crowded” the blond man relents and with a last glance at his brother, steps closer to Ivan.  
As a true gentleman the Russian stretches out his hand for Ludwig to take – he stares at the hand for a moment in great confusion, then hesitantly shakes it as if this were a gesture of greeting. Ivan’s unrestrained laughter rings out loudly in the hall, echoing, while Gilbert’s face twists in repulsion and Ludwig flinches. Oops. Ah okay, maybe this wasn’t quite fair, Ivan knows his friend struggles with the nuances of interaction and taking advantage of it is a bit mean! And he did push it a bit there.

He apologizes, this time.

.

.

.

Ivan lets Ludwig choose the bar, and he must say he’s quite pleased with the place they end up in even if it’s not the one they’ve usually been to. It’s further away from the center of the city with its parties and indulgences, and while Ivan usually favors liveliness because he’s got enough silence at home, he does not want to mingle with that kind of folk.   
Here neither of them has to raise their voices to hear the other, and there’s still alcohol and soft music playing in the background, what more could one ask for? And not many other patrons that could think of listening in on their conversation, can’t forget about that aspect.

Maybe he’s growing paranoid though. Just a little bit. A little bit of paranoia is healthy!

“I like it here. Have you been frequenting this place?” the Russian asks his companion as soon as they are seated and each have their first drink of the night in their hands, switching to his native language because it rolls easier of his tongue and because he doubts anyone else here but Ludwig speaks it. Ludwig merely shakes his head and takes his first sip, still not meeting his eye, not in his house, not on the silent way here. “I haven’t had much time for going out for drinks.”

Ivan’s smile strains a little.

“Do they not know how to appreciate alcohol in the League of Nations? That’s quite the shame” he says sweetly and drinks as well – he barely stops to taste it since this trip is hardly about enjoyment anyway. He’s just cut the chase. He senses Ludwig tense a little next to him.

“That is not it” the German murmurs after a moment, drumming his fingers against the side of his glass. Irritating noise, that is. “We are just not at that point yet. Too amicable still, for all of us.”

“Holding a grudge?” Ivan asks with a faked teasing note, pausing to order another drink already. In his periphery, Ludwig gives a terse nod, knuckles showing themselves through the thin skin. Ivan’s not seen anything from the Western theater but he’s seen photos and heard accounts, seen the way Ludwig’s gaze becomes distant and panicked at certain sounds, so it’s mildly reassuring that grudge is still good and well! The hyperinflation hasn’t ebbed away too long ago either.   
It remains a thorn in Ivan’s side though, the way Ludwig’s been sucking up to the west to worm his way into their fun little leagues and clubs! What’s he, a dog? One thing to like those, another to act like them. And it’s not because they resolutely deny Ivan any of that, it’s because there’s 433 million Reichsmark between Russia and Germany every year and that’d be a big thing to lose. And there’s still a noose around Ivan’s neck by the name of political isolation…

“Speaking of which” Ivan says into the silence, “your brother holds a grudge against me as well, despite our friendly parting and our close friendship over the past few years. It’s saddening me. We used to get along so well! Do tell me, what do you think could I do to make him forgive me?”

His drink arrives and he nurses this one slower, allowing himself to taste. When he cracks open an eye, Ludwig is glaring back at him. Hm? “What did I say? Was it the wrong thing to ask?” he questions with a trace of irritation in his words and instantly Ludwig’s face goes back to its impassive state, diplomatic and cowardly.

“It’s more than a grudge” Ludwig admits in monotone, averting his eyes and raising the glass to his lips without actually drinking. “He hates revolution, and he hates allies that undermine our democratic structure even more, you see?”

Ivan’s eyes widen and the very first genuine smile he’s given tonight graces his features as his heart gives a little jump. There it is! That little spark that always shines in those blue eyes but hardly ever compels Ludwig to speak his mind! Because he _is_ angry after all!  
“My my! That’s a harsh and hypocritical judgment of me!” Ivan laughs quietly, tilting his head to the side and propping his arm up on the counter so he can rest his chin in his hand. The German doesn’t react beyond raising one of his eyebrows, a silent haughty prompt for him to elaborate. “Where do you wish for me to begin?” Ivan asks.

“Tell me how it is hypocritical to hate revolution.”

His smile grows if possible. “That is easy! First, were you not born from revolution? I’d take offense to the notion of your brother despising revolution if I were in your stead.”   
“That issue has been resolved a different way.”   
“Okay, I see, I see! But mhm, your brother is a great pragmatist at the bottom of it all. He surely must see that sometimes revolution is the one way to break apart structures that have outlived their use and functionality, with no regard for the cost. It is quite in line with his own thinking.”  
“But order must be upheld in any case. Revolution is pushed by those who do not know how to handle power. Masses are unreliable forces, that is why democracy is the better solution, the functional one. Masses keep each other in check there.”   
“—I knew you would say that, but have I not restored order as well? And didn’t a revolution give you the democratic structure you accuse me of undermining in the first place?”

Silence, which means Ivan has won.

“Our revolutions were hardly like yours” Ludwig says more to his drink than to his giggling friend, and the mask of neutrality is slipping again to let the frustration show itself on this hardened face. Of course he has a point, it wasn’t quite the same, not under the same circumstances – but it’s fun to back him into a corner like that and make him admit that they’re not all right either, no matter how much they pretend.

Ivan hums, takes a sip. “Truly. You should have gone further!”

Ludwig laughs, in the very same way Gilbert always would when he considered a proposition void of merit. So void of it that it deserved nothing but mockery.

“Prussia has a left-leaning government now. I think that is radical enough for us” Ludwig says and finishes his drink. Orders another right away while Russia is left to smile and roll his eyes at the endearing defiance. “We will not become communists, no matter whatever tricks you may try on us. The units in our midst that are backed by your country, your attempts to talk Brother and I into following your example, those are wastes of time. Our friendship is already secured. You can stop now.”

The Russian sighs, his heart twisting a little because this is the point where their conversations become tense and unpleasant. It’s just so hard to bear the ignorance of somebody you have grown fond of.  
“It wounds me that you think of this as trickery! When all I am doing is checking in on you, things were so tough early on this decade and with your new friends it will be harder to uphold communications, won’t it? I am just making use of the time we have to ensure you are taking good care of yourself and take some time to unwind.”

There’s a hidden question in these words—

“Ivan, I am capable of upholding more than a few friendships at once. My record may not speak for it, but I am no longer so immature” Ludwig responds, frustration still lingering in his tone as a little crease reappears between his eyebrows, blue eyes narrowed.

–Ludwig gives the appropriate answer.

The voice whispering in Ivan’s head tells him to stay wary, they say one thing about German loyalty but Germany has changed through that Great War. Healthy paranoia. Paranoia sounding like Stalin, a man Ivan doesn’t trust either because he happens to know about his actions, knows about those little sentences removed from the will.

But the smile remains on Ivan’s lips as he scoots a little closer to his German friend, placing his hand on his broad shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric tense. Oh right, Ludwig is strange about physical contact – Ivan is not particularly good at remembering such things and he hates to restrain himself, so he doesn’t pull the hand away anyway, leaning closer still.

“My offer still stands, you know this, yes?”

“I’m aware” Ludwig says, voice strained and gaze following the patterns in the wood instead of meeting Ivan’s lavender eyes.

The music in the background fades, leaving them suspended in that strange uncomfortable silence, the space between the end of a song and the beginning of the next. The offer has been on the table for seven years. The last time they mentioned it was three years ago, in a frenzy because the League of Nations was considering opening its doors for Germany and nothing says bonding like waging war together.   
And war is a word they only utter these days, a taboo only Ivan brings up anymore.

Another sigh.

“I apologize, Germaniya. I must be a little sentimental… I miss these days where you and I were neighbors. Do you not sometimes think of those days?” Ivan asks, still leaning in close, his hand still on Ludwig’s shoulder. The shoulder twitches and Ludwig chugs down his drink. No reply comes, so the Russian drops his voice to a whisper.

“I know you do. You have not recognized the borders to the east, yes.”

“For Brother’s sake” Ludwig says, much too quickly this time and too forceful to conceal the resentment. “They took away his lands and I know it pains him. But I will not head to war over this, not now. I’ve told you I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to upset your new friends” Ivan pouts, shaking his head in dismay at what he must hear. Sucking up to the west, moving further to them and farther away from Russia. Ludwig sneers at him before pushing him away.

“Let it go already! I will not risk the stability we have reached so mindlessly, and I will not aid you in spreading your ideology” Ludwig says testily and Ivan feels anger bubbling up in his own chest. It’s a bit scary because he’s not very good at actually handling that emotion once it reaches the surface, anger is… it’s not very good for anyone. He knows that.

“I’m not forcing you to, although I don’t understand your hatred for my ideals. I always thought you were a man of ideals as well, but you disappoint me sorely. You can join us any time you want! You could get away from the wolves of capitalism if you just ask. I would help you.”

“Why would I? It’s evil, but it is the lesser evil here. I will not push my government to drive the country to ruins.”

“To ruins?” Ivan echoes – stay calm, stay calm. He grabs Ludwig’s face with both his hands with all the gentleness he possesses and gives the kindest smile he can. A mild threat thinly-veiled by harmless gestures. From the outside he is a drunken man who forgot about personal boundaries, but Ludwig knows that it’s more than that.   
“Look at me, Ludwig. Am I in ruins? Am I not healthy and happy? Doesn’t the same apply for my siblings? It does. We are doing quite well and I wish the same for you. I am offering you a place with us, yes? Please consider it at least.”

Ludwig’s mouth is pressed into a thin skeptical line, his jaw clenched.

“You have the NEP to thank for that.”

“The NEP is only a temporary measure” Ivan says, his smile nearly faltering under the pressure of rage but he manages to uphold it. “It serves us well for now but we will not need it forever!”

“You’re a damn hypocrite too” Ludwig responds and pries Ivan’s hands away from his face, unwittingly saving himself from potential death from asphyxiation at Russia’s hands. The song ends and once more they are trapped in silence. Anxiously they wait for the next song to start, and when it does, Ivan retreats to allow the swell of ugly emotions in his heart simmer down into a manageable nausea.   
Alcohol will help.

They clink their glasses together when they receive their next order.

.

.

.

Ivan accompanies Ludwig home, because he’s a proper gentleman.

And because they are both staggering on their feet, the clashing ideologies forgotten for the moment (somewhere down the line, when Ivan had called for vodka), and it’s just a lot easier to walk when there’s another tall person to lean on.

Ludwig tries to pretend to be sober by keeping his facial expression dark and grave, but Ivan coaxes a laugh at of him when he begins to sing, off-key and slurring and he doesn’t think he even got any of the lyrics right. But it gets him what we wants, so it is good anyway.

Ivan walks Ludwig right up to the doorstep, presses a kiss to his cheek to say goodbye and ignores the protest that follows.

“Keep the offer in mind, yes? I would welcome having you as a partner.”


End file.
